Chapter 14: 1001 Souls
It had been 350 years since she was trapped in this realm, always in night cycle. As she stood on the ground, a tree branch in her hand, ready to inscribe another name, she felt the familiar sensation of the Licker's tongue on her skin. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the task at hand, but the cold, wet sensation was distracting, sending shivers down her spine.
"Not now," she muttered, her voice barely audible. She had to finish this, to write the names she had found. She knelt down, her hand trembling slightly as she pressed the tree branch into the soft earth. With a deep breath, she began to write.
"E. Lavish," she whispered, her voice steady as she inscribed the first name onto the pitch ground. The earth seemed to hum beneath her touch, a soft glow emanating from the letters as they appeared. She took a moment to appreciate the sight, the sense of accomplishment it brought her.
"G. Emerson," she said next, her voice barely above a whisper. The name glowed softly as it appeared on the earth, joining the others in a neat, orderly row. She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. She had done it.
She had found and written the names of the 1001 souls who had been trapped in this realm for centuries. The pitch ground was now filled with their names, glowing softly in the moonlight like a constellation of hope. She had served her body to these 1001 souls, fulfilling their deepest desires and releasing them from their eternal torment. But as she stood there, panting and exhausted, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled over her like a shroud.
"Well," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I guess that's one way to make a name for myself. Literally." She let out a bitter laugh, her body still trembling from the exertion and the lingering sensation of the Licker's touch. "I've just served my body to 1001 vengeful souls, and all I got was this lousy pitch ground. And a promise not to cum, of course." She rolled her eyes, her voice laced with self-deprecating humor.
Her drained stamina couldn't make her stand any longer, so she sank down onto the pitch ground, her legs giving way beneath her.
"Well," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I guess I've just spent 350 years living like a slut or porn star, getting raped by spirits. At least they didn't charge me for the experience." Breilla muttered, her voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and frustration as she looked down at her outfit. She had been wearing the same blue mini bikini top and brown tied bikini bottom for what felt like an eternity. The cowgirl gloves and boots were a constant reminder of her time in this realm, a world where she was trapped in a never-ending cycle of night and day.
The realization that she had been wearing the same outfit for 350 years hit her like a ton of bricks. She had been so focused on finding names and serving her body to the vengeful spirits that she hadn't even noticed the passage of time. She looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror, her eyes scanning her body for any signs of wear or tear. But there was nothing - not a single wrinkle or stain marred her skin.
She then remembered - 350 years in this realm only equated to about seven hours in her world. The realization sent a chill down her spine.
She was still trapped, still bound to this realm by some unseen force. She had served 1001 souls, fulfilled their deepest desires, and yet, she was still here. A sob escaped her lips as she buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with exhaustion and despair.
"Please," she begged, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Please, just let me go. I've done what you asked. I've served them all. Isn't that enough?" She looked up at the night sky, her eyes searching for some sign, some indication that her pleas were being heard. But there was nothing - just the cold, indifferent moon staring back at her.